Page 5

“Aye, I will,” the old man said, as he did rise and get ready to leave.

“My work is done here,” Rosamund declared cheerfully. “I will see you again when I pass by the village, Mr. Clough. Little Timmy.”

“Lady Rosamund!” Yet another familiar voice called out to her.

The place still felt like home. Today, she left Rosewood Cottage on a whim. She was not prepared, but she was just as happy. For a moment, she had forgotten about her problems.

As she was planning to turn around to return home, she saw Farmer Barnaby. He was a man in his late sixties to early seventies with hands weathered from toiling the soil. His hair was white, and his skin leathery, but he seemed happy. At least he was smiling. The man had leased several acres of Ashbourne land for decades.

“Was it difficult for you when the estate changed hands?” Rosamund asked softly, sympathy dripping from her voice, as the two of them stood near his wagon, which was full of produce. “I know these changes are sometimes difficult. W-what happened when the Duke of Westbourne took hold of the land?”

“Mm,” Farmer Barnaby mused, looking slightly confused, as he scratched his chin. “Well, Lady Rosamund, I must say it has not been hard at all. His Grace has proven to be more merciful than we thought he would be.”

Rosamund’s eyes bulged. “Merciful” and Peregrine Blackwood did not feel compatible with each other. There had to be a mistake.

“Pardon?”

“Two winters back, we had a terrible harvest,” Barnaby explained. “At that time, me and the other farmers thought we were ruined. However, His Grace had sent orders. He refused to raise rents. He hasn’t even added a penny since.”

“He did not raise the rents for almost half a decade?” Rosamund asked. Yes, that was possible, but there was a change of hands. That would have been enough reason for some to raise the rent.

“Aye, my lady. Not at all. When old Miller’s barn burned last summer, he did not just stand by, either. He paid to have the barn rebuilt. He had paid for the timber and had them brought here. Then, he employed some builders. The work was quickly done.”

“Surely, there must be something -,” Rosamund faltered. Something what? Did she mean there must be some benefit to him? But what? If it were to improve his reputation, then she would also have heard of it. It seemed that the story had been contained within the village, and the villagers were only telling the story to those who were willing to listen.

Like her.

They trusted her. They knew that she was going to listen to them. Suddenly, Rosamund felt disoriented.

“Even Widow Cooper had benefited,” Mrs. Higgins interjected. Rosamund was surprised to see the baker’s wife again. She was holding something in her hands. “When your father, Lord Ashbourne, passed, bless his memory, we were all terrified.”

Rosamund was, too. She had wondered what would happen to her beloved villagers. Various scenarios played in her head, then.

“We thought that we could be sent out of our homes if there was any delay in the rent. Widow Cooper could not pay for months, but the Duke had already set a new rule that everyone who served the Harcourts was to be turned away. She was allowed to stay for free.”

“Oh, Widow Cooper,” Rosamund murmured. “Of course. She was not just a villager, but she worked as a maid for Ashbourne Hall for several years. Decades.”

“You must visit her when you have the opportunity,” Mrs. Higgins advised. “Look. Your tarts and buns.”

The tension in Rosamund’s shoulders disappeared as she realized the paper bag was for her. She reached for her reticule to pay Mrs. Higgins.

“Do not worry yourself, my lady,” she said. “We are doing well in the village. The Duke of Westbourne had been doing well by us.”

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Higgins!” Rosamund took the paper bag, barely feeling the heat. “And I will be visiting Widow Cooper the next time I come. For now, I believe that I must go before it gets dark.”

“Yes, my lady. You must keep safe,” the baker’s wife agreed.

In truth, Mrs. Higgins was as much a baker as her husband. Mr. Higgins started the bakery, but his wife was the one who knew what flavors to add to make their treats different from everyone else’s.

As Rosamund walked away, her mind was still spinning. Chaotic thoughts filled it. How could the man they were describing as benevolent and generous be the same man who ruthlessly took her ancestral home away? The two versions were completely at odds with each other. She had always known Peregrine Blackwood as a villain. The man who destroyed her father’s reputation. The wealthy Duke who destroyed everything.

Rosamund created reasons in her head. Perhaps he was merely buying their loyalty. It was all a calculated plan, which would put him on top in the end. Still, that did not make sense. As much as she hated the Duke, the reasons she made up did not ring true.

I must go home.

Home? Rosewood Cottage was kind, but it was not home. Her home was in Ashbourne Hall, and some usurper took it for his own.

Needing to clear her head, Rosamund decided it was time to go back to Rosewood Cottage. This time, she would be taking a shortcut she often used as a child, a lane through the wood and over a wooden stile.